


Iterum

by Oneinamaximillion



Series: Iterum [1]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Confusing, Eldritch, Gen, Murder, Not Canon Compliant, POV Second Person, Possessive Behavior, Suicide, a little loopy au, i mean kinda but also not really, it's wkm what did you expect, that's what i'm calling it, time is real wonky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:08:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24668143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oneinamaximillion/pseuds/Oneinamaximillion
Summary: Who Killed Markiplier, from a different perspective. Or maybe not.
Relationships: Celine | The Seer/Mark Fischbach
Series: Iterum [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1783990
Kudos: 31





	Iterum

**Author's Note:**

> first work let's go!  
> Minimal editing on this so if you have any suggestions/corrections feel free to let me know. This came to me in the middle of the night and I immediately wrote it the next morning so it probably doesn't make any sense but! Whatever!

You’re tired.  
You’re so, so tired.  
But you can’t sleep.  
If you sleep,  
something might happen.  
And you might Miss It.  
So you wait.  
And you watch.  
Maybe someone will come back.  
Maybe they haven’t forgotten about you.

There’s nothing out there.  
Beyond the mirror.  
There’s just enough space to walk three paces, back and forth.  
Trying to go farther is where the void is.  
And the void hurts.  
It hurts so much, worse than dying.  
So you don’t leave the mirror.

How many days has it been?  
Where have they gone?  
Why hasn’t anyone come back to the house?  
Even someone new.  
You would be okay with someone new.  
As long as it was someone.  
...You don’t know what you’d do to them.

Your memories are getting a little foggy.  
The days up to your death, those are mostly clear.  
But the other things?  
You’re not sure.  
Did you have parents?  
Siblings?  
A favorite book, a favorite song?  
What did you like to eat?  
What schools did you attend?  
What did you look like?  
_What was your name?_

Please.  
Please.  
Let something change.  
You want out.  
Please.

It hurts.  
You are walking into the void and it hurts and you are tired.  
You don’t know how long it’s been.  
But it’s long enough for you to have lost hope.  
Lost everything.  
It doesn’t matter if you stay by the mirror.  
No one is coming back.  
And if it hurts to wander this far, then maybe that means it will kill you.  
Properly.  
Please.

You lie down. Or maybe you stand up. There is no perspective in the void. The difference is trivial. You stop moving is the point. You stop and feel the pain wash over you, so cold it’s hot, so hot it’s cold, and at least it’s something, at least it isn’t the nothing of your mind or the nothing of your view outside the mirror, and you are so, so tired, so you stop moving and let darkness sweep over your vision.

You awake slowly, and s t r e t c h out. Your form had fallen into nothing before, just an area where you slept. But someone has built something here, and you eagerly slip your consciousness into every spot of it. You slip far, far out into the woods, among snakes and spiders and leaf litter, before rushing back to wind yourself into the intricacies of your new body. You test the strength of your self, delighting in the new lumber that makes up your frame, the unblemished glass of your windows, the multitude of your staircases and rooms. It’s a little barren, but there’s life here. Workers leaving, their job done. You feel some semblance of gratitude for them, for creating you. Well, not you, of course. You’ve always been here. But giving you something to possess.  
And then _someone else_ is walking through your front door.  
You don’t want him here.  
You let him stay just long to decorate, just enough to add to your majesty, before it becomes too much. His mind is weak, and you crash in easily while he is sleeping. You poison his dreams with hatred, of him dying, of everyone he knows dying, and it’s all his fault, _all his fault_ -  
He kills himself within a week.  
And you are triumphant.  
Sure, you are alone now, but you also have time to settle properly. To make this new form yours.  
And more people will come.  
You know it in your foundation.  
More people will come.

The new family is a rich widow and her daughter.  
You don’t want them here.  
The daughter isn’t even five.  
You whisper to the mother, that these stairs aren’t safe, this house is too big, her daughter could get hurt or lost or worse. Doesn’t she know the woods are full of snakes? Her daughter could drown in the pool or fall from a balcony or disappear into one of your many, many rooms.  
The two of them are gone by the end of the month.

Someone new is walking your grounds.  
He isn’t even a resident.  
You let the earth open up from under him and he vanishes without a trace.

It takes you a long time before a family arrives that you know is right.  
A newlywed couple, back from honeymoon, looking for a place to live.  
There’s something familiar about their features.  
Irrelevant.  
These ones, you will let stay.

The lovely couple has a child.  
They name him Mark.

A few years into their stay, a friend of theirs arrives.  
He is holding the hand of a toddler who walks clumsily beside him.  
He is, it turns out, a family friend, down on his luck, and could they please give him and his son a place to stay? Just for a little while?  
You can allow it.  
There is something familiar about his son.

The son is named William.

The man is a terrible guest. He is fine, at first, but soon he grows too comfortable with your hospitality. He yells at the help. He drinks at all hours of the day. He disappears randomly, leaving his son under only your own watchful eye, and returns only to yell at the poor child.  
He does all this just beyond view of your residents, but you see him. You see everything that happens in your domain.  
You take the boy under your wing. You have already let Mark wander your halls from a young age, so you let William do the same. They talk to you the way children do, the way children talk to everything and anything that seems like it will listen. The two of them are very bold, traipsing through your woods and climbing up to your attic. They play-fight like puppies, scuffling for a few moments before they forget what they were doing and rush off to do something new. You let them stay up a little longer than their parents want, let them hide away giggling behind your doors. When they are hungry, no matter the hour, there is always food for them in the kitchen.  
William’s father continues to be intolerable. You murmur in his ear that the woods here are really quite lovely. Probably some nice deer out there. He could get one. Who’s going to stop him?  
_A hunting accident,_ they say. _Very tragic_ , they say.

Mark goes along with whatever you say to him. He was born here, and he’s young. The house suggesting new adventures is hardly even something worth mentioning.  
William is a little trickier. He’s reserved, after his father’s death. You would frown if you had a face. You miss the him from before, who was bright and cheerful. Maybe a gift would cheer him up? But what?  
The opportunity arrives soon enough. A bird crashes into his bedroom window, and he opens it up in a panic, but it is already too late. The bird is still and quiet. He picks it up gently and brings it into his room, and starts crying. You don’t like people crying. The sound is terrible, and the saltwater stings. It is an easy thing to nudge your power into the bird, and within moments it is alive again, chirping. William stares at it in shock. You make the bird struggle a little, and he nearly drops it in surprise before hurrying to your still open window. He opens up his hands, and you send the bird to fly away into the woods. He watches it leave with wide eyes. 

Soon the boys are old enough to go to school, and they leave. It’s okay. They always come back. Why wouldn’t they come back?  
Regardless, your walls are never empty. Even with the boys in school and the father at work, the mother is often wandering through your vessel humming. She has an eye for art, and she arranges and rearranges your insides at whim. You find that you don’t mind too much. She is always very careful, very considerate.  
And, of course, there’s the endless parade of workers necessary to keep you in good condition. Cooking and cleaning and tending your grounds; it’s never ending. You make sure they are well paid, and are quick to whisper to the parents when this maid needs a break, that butler deserves a raise.  
The second anyone damages you, of course, both you and your residents are quick to see them gone. With a reference and severance pay, of course. The world outside your walls is ever so cruel.

One day the boys bring home a friend. His name is Damien, and he is shy where they are confident, he is quiet where they are loud, and he brings balance to their little group. He’s a peacemaker, always doing his best to stop the little fights Wil and Mark sometimes get into. He doesn’t talk to you the way Will and Mark do, but that’s alright. He’s welcome all the same.  
The three of them are growing up fast, and you feel like it’s only been a closing door since the time they were small enough to all fit on the loveseat, giggling. They change schools once and then twice and then Damien’s twin sister comes over.  
She’s a bright girl, a curious girl, and you can welcome her as well. And you do. But then she starts poking around at your walls, drawing marks in the basement, talking about spirits and energies and demonic forces.  
You do not appreciate being called such things. You make a suggestion to Mark, and he voices it.  
“Do you really believe in that magic stuff?” He asks, his tone making it clear that he doesn’t. She narrows his eyes at him.  
“Can’t you feel it?” she asks. “There’s something else here. Something unnatural.”  
Mark shrugs. “That’s just how this house is. Come on. We should probably study for tomorrow.”  
Mark isn’t one for study, but you can tell how he wants to change the subject. He doesn’t like making Celine upset.  
You see how he looks at her. You see how William looks at her. You know there will be trouble, in the future.  
But not right now.  
They’re still children yet.

They’re leaving.  
They’re leaving.  
They’re leaving you.  
_(Again.)_  
Mark is going off to University and William is joining the army.  
They’re going away from you.  
And your residents hired some new groundskeeper who has been reinforcing your fences and edges, trapping you on your property.  
You cannot follow.  
Don’t they know it’s not safe out there?  
Don’t they know how dangerous it is?  
People get hurt and die out there.  
Nothing dies here that you do not want to die.  
There is no sickness and no hurt here.  
Don’t they know that?

Maybe you could tolerate it, if they still came to visit. You could handle knowing they’re safe from the letters that arrive in your mailbox.  
But then your residents start talking.  
“We don’t really need this much space with the boys gone, do we?”  
“There’s this very nice place closer to the city-”  
No.  
No.  
You _chose_ them.  
Out of all your residents, you let them stay.  
They.  
Will.  
Not.  
_Leave you here!_

You look into your safe and make sure the will is set up the way you want it. Then you start talking.

They don’t survive the day.

All of them come back for the funeral. Mark is in shock, but that’s okay. Will is confused and hurt. Damien is quiet. Celine doesn’t want to be here.  
It’s fine.

You are alone a little longer, but soon Mark is back from University.  
And this time, Celine is with them.  
They’re engaged!  
You know it won’t last, but you make sure the weather on their wedding day is beautiful regardless.  
William doesn’t attend. He’s been stationed somewhere far away.

You want Celine to feel safe here. You really do. But all your attempts to talk to her are met with hostile glares and pursed lips. She doesn’t eat the food you make. She doesn’t want to be here.  
Her and Mark start to fight over it, a few years in. As much as she seems to hate you, you know that she loves Mark and he loves her. But you won’t let him leave. And she doesn’t want to stay.

William is back.  
Celine starts leaving at suspicious times.  
Mark, busy with his new career, doesn’t notice.  
You don’t alert him.  
It’s for the best.

One final fight.  
Mark finally found out.  
And Celine is gone.

Good.

Mark didn’t need her anyway.

He’s falling. Slipping away from you. You try to hide away weapons, send away most of the staff. He’ll be fine. You just need to keep him safe.  
He isn’t getting better. And he doesn’t hear you when you talk to him.  
Maybe...maybe.  
You set a knife on the table and, when he’s at his lowest, lead him to it.

Finally. Finally. Finally.  
He falls into your void as his body bleeds out on the floor. You curl around him.  
He opens his eyes.  
“W-what? Where am I?”  
_Home. Safe. Don’t you remember?_  
He stares at you, not understanding. You frown.  
It’s alright. He’ll understand eventually.

It takes longer than you want it to.  
Over and over. Sometimes he stabs himself. Sometimes he shoots himself.  
_Strangled, beaten, poisoned, shot._  
It pains you to see him so hurt.  
But every time he dies, he gets closer to you.  
Closer to understanding.  
And at last, he hears you.  
_Mark.  
My hero.  
You didn’t deserve what happened to you.  
Don’t you want revenge?_

The plan is simple. Goad the Colonel into killing Mark; goad the Detective into killing the Colonel; steal the Colonel’s body. It should be easy.  
And then.  
You are checking the time and walking up the steps and greeting the Colonel and walking through your door and _how how how_ -  
_That’s **you.**_  
How is it you?  
It can’t be.  
Can it?  
You are shaken, but you do your part to ensure the plan is completed. You lure the Colonel into the wine cellar, where Mark suggests a game of russian roulette. Meanwhile, you get in a fight with the Detective and the Mayor- _Damien_ \- the **Mayor** takes you to one of your rooms.  
It hurts.  
It hurts and you are tired.  
You wake up and Mark is dead.  
It’s going how it’s supposed to, the Detective and the Colonel are fighting, you are watching from your body and you are watching through the walls and-  
_**Her.**_  
She left him. How dare she come back, how dare she talk to you this way.  
The plan has changed. Mark, hiding in the attic, is confused, but he will do as you say. He’d follow you anywhere.  
You are alone with the Seer and are about to do a seance, you are lurking in the room, and all of a sudden you are _overlapping_ , and your memories are flickering past each other.  
No.  
Too much.  
Pull back.  
This you hasn’t met the groundskeeper, cannot meet the groundskeeper-  
It’s too late.  
The Seer is angry, both of your selves are reeling, and you’re leaving the house-  
No-  
Come back-  
The Seer stays behind. The Mayor stays behind.  
It’s fine.  
You can work with this.  
You prefer to work with subtler methods, but there is no time. You crash into the two of them and drag them from their bodies. You usher Mark’s spirit into the Mayor’s body, and send him away. Somewhere within your labyrinthine halls, but rigged to look like the outside world. You can’t let him leave just yet. And then, you pour yourself into the Seer’s body.  
You blink open eyes that aren’t yours and stretch limbs that don’t belong to you as lights flicker and thunder roars.  
It’s been so long since you had a form like this.  
(The other you is running back to you)  
Up the stairs, down the halls.  
You open the door and see yourself.  
You smile.  
And the groundskeeper slams the door.  
It’s okay. You didn’t plan on escaping with the Seer. Why would you do that? Your whole existence is here, in this house. You can feel the souls of the Seer and the Mayor wandering through your void, but that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is making sure everyone stays. The Chef, Butler, and Groundskeeper try to leave. You pull the same trick on them that you pulled on Mark, before dragging their minds into sleep.  
You guide yourself to the Detective’s office; truth has always been important to you. Then, once you are sure you realize what has happened, you lead the Colonel to the room. This part of the plan is no longer relevant, but you will see it played out.  
He goes to confront the Detective. The Detective is shot. You are shot.  
It hurts but for once, you are not tired.  
You have never been more awake.  
The Colonel rushed down your stairs to your sides, uncomprehending of what he had done.  
“Please,” he says. “It was an accident. I didn’t mean to.”  
_I know_ , you say, but he doesn’t respond.  
You turn to other matters.  
The Seer and the Mayor have been disintegrating in your void without your protection, and already they have fallen to their worst parts. You can’t imagine them betraying you. You already know how this will end.  
The Seer sends you back, with a little help, and you stand. In the real world, the physical world, the Colonel sees you wake up. He’s so fragmented now that it’s easy to slip into his mind without him even noticing. You send him away and, the second he leaves your sight, pull him into your embrace.  
And now.  
The mirror.  
You pick up your-his-our cane and consider it, before looking up to your reflection. You don’t even need to prompt them to push you out; the mirror shatters at the force of it.  
Your-Dark walks away, leaving Your-Self in the mirror.  
You should leave yourself.  
Right?  
Isn’t that how this goes?  
...does it have to go this way?

You slip into the mirror and find Your-Self. You won’t leave. Everyone else leaves, but you won’t.

It is good to have Your-Self back, even if your body is being controlled by Your-Dark. But what do you do now? Everyone is still here, safe in your walls, but what do you do with them? They can’t sleep forever. You don’t want that for them.  
Maybe.  
Maybe if they play by yours rules-  
No. Things could still go wrong.  
Maybe if they don’t have any choice, you could wake them up. Could let them roam.  
Not yet. You still need to erode the protections the groundskeeper set up.

It takes longer than you want. Decades. But eventually, you are free of your confines.  
The world has changed. But it’s still similar enough.  
You infect more areas, set the stage so to speak, and then you return to Your-Mark.  
_Let’s tell a story.  
Remember?  
You’re an Actor.  
I’ve made you a starring role.  
A Hero.  
Your favorite.  
Remember?_

Wake up.

**Author's Note:**

> haha wasn't that a trip  
> again, first time posting, so if the formatting is a little weird please let me know!  
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
